Read Online Time to Die by John Gilstrap - Free Book Online Page A

raised the .22 in his left hand to point at her, even as he aimed the cannon in his right at the boy. “You stay right where you are,” Brad said to Gramma. “Don’t move, or I’ll kill you both.”
    Gramma stopped, but there was no fear left in her face; it was all anger now. Her eyes never left Brad as she yelled, “Run, Scotty! Run now!”
    Brad spat a curse as his head whipped around in time to see the boy inching backward. “I’ll kill you, kid,” he said. “I promise, I will.” He raised the pistol higher. He whipped his head back to his left to keep tabs on Gramma, and then returned his gaze to the boy, who again seemed frozen in place. “Come on back inside, kid.”
    Something touched Brad’s shoulder, causing him to jump. It was Nicki. She looked exhausted after her trek to the front door. “Let him go,” she whispered.
    “Leave me alone,” he growled. “I don’t want to do this.”
    “Then don’t,” she said.
    “I don’t have a choice.”
    “Sure you do. Just lower the gun and let him go.”
    Behind them, Gramma yelled again, “Please, Scotty, run!”
    “Do you want me to kill him?” Brad boomed. “Do you want me to blow a hole through your boy?”
    “He doesn’t belong here,” Gramma said. “He’s not part of this. You’ve still got me. Look, I’ll go and sit down if you’d like.”
    Brad’s eyes were red, and the blood from his bludgeoned nose dripped from his chin. He looked back outside and spat a crimson spray. “Die an old man,” he said to Scotty, “not a little boy.”
    It seemed like an eternity that they stood there, separated by twenty feet, staring at each other. Neither knew what the next move would be. Finally, Scotty pivoted and took off running.
    “No!” Brad yelled. “Goddammit, no!” He took two steps forward and centered the gun sights on the fleeing boy. He had time for maybe three shots before he disappeared around the dune. The idiot kid wasn’t even trying to zigzag as he ran. It was the simplest shot there was.
    Brad tightened his finger. He had to do it. There was no choice.
    But he couldn’t.

Chapter Seven
    W hen the electronic hardware on his belt chirped, Carter jumped, startling Deputy Sweet. “What?” she said.
    Carter’s first instinct was to reach for his cell phone, but by the time it chirped a second time, he realized that it wasn’t the phone that he was hearing. It was his pager.
    The pager. The one that he’d carried in silence for so long that he’d often wondered if it even worked anymore. The one that had brought false hope nearly thirty-six hours ago. Even as Carter read the LCD display, he was reaching for his cell phone. He dialed the number from memory, ignoring Darla’s inquiry about what was going on.
    “New York Heart-Lung Consortium. May I help you?”
    Carter couldn’t believe the ease with which they answered their phone, as if it were just any other business. “This is Carter Janssen. I received a page from you.” He leaned against the door as he spoke, in part to steady his trembling hand.
    “Have you been awaiting word on a donor?” It was the voice of an ageless female, very efficient.
    “Yes, ma’am. In fact, we’ve been waiting for some time. My daughter’s name is—”
    “Can you hold, please? I’ll put you in touch with the person you need to speak to.”
    He heard a click and then synthesized pop music. This was impossible, he told himself. It couldn’t be happening.
    “What is it?” Darla inquired yet again. There was real concern in her tone. “You look awful.”
    “It’s the donor center,” he explained.
    Darla gasped, “Oh, my God. Do they have the transplants ready?”
    Carter responded with a shrug, not trusting his voice.
    He had no idea how long he sat on hold. Not now, he prayed. Please don’t let them be ready now. He needed a week. A day. Donor organs had to be transplanted within hours, and they were so far out of the area—
    After a click, a pleasant male voice said,